


Broken/Glass

by landrews



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Coda, Cutting, Daddy Booth, Dark Booth, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landrews/pseuds/landrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Epps is dead. Bones wishes she had killed him. Cam is in the hospital. It's as good a time as any to let Rebecca yell at him for endangering Parker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken/Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Coda: S2, ep 12- The Man In The Cell 
> 
> um, do I need to warn? Dark!Booth.
> 
> Written January 2008 for Prompt at DarkBooth: broken glass, sadness, alcohol, and/or memories
> 
> A/N: Thanks to starlet2367 for the fast beta!

 

 

Booth gripped the steering wheel hard. He merged into the light, late night beltway traffic on the way back to the hospital and Cam. He hadn’t been exactly civil when he ran out to stop Epps from getting to Bones, too. 

Bones hadn’t told him. She had suspected Epps had a hidden way into her apartment and Bones hadn’t told him. When he put it together in Cam’s room, he didn’t dare call her. He didn’t want her distracted. Her last comment- that he should have let her shoot Epps- ricocheted through his head and chest like shrapnel. 

He hit the wheel. Fuck Epps. He deserved it. 

Booth could still feel the slide of Epps fingers on his as Epps let go. Booth hadn’t let go because what Epps deserved- what the families of his victims deserved- was to face each other, for Epps to own up to his nature and his crimes. 

Booth took his right hand off the wheel and rubbed it on his fatigues, then the left. They’d both been sweating. He should have told Bones to snake her hand through the bottom rail and get a good grip on Epps. But there wasn’t time. 

Was there? 

Epps wanted to die. Thank god the railing held. Maybe Epps meant to take them with him. Maybe that’s why he just kept on talking and talking. 

Brakes flashed in front of him, and Booth recognized the ramp off the beltway that led to Rebecca’s house. The hospital exit lay far behind him. He stopped at the green light, undecided. Headlights flashed in his rearview. Accelerating, he turned right. Parker’s cover would have been dismissed by now. He might as well go by and let Rebecca have at him.

*

Her porch light was off, but he could see the flicker of the TV in the living room. He knocked twice, not wanting to wake Parker with the bell. After a long moment, he knocked again, harder.

Rebecca’s voice rose through the door, as she fumbled with the lock. He couldn’t understand what she was saying. The door swung in and she launched herself at him, crying. 

He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her neck, and inhaled her. She shook against him. He knew her soft, unbound curves. He needed her, soft and solid and familiar to him.

Lifting her, he stepped blindly over the threshold and kicked the door closed, before setting her back down. He framed his face with his hands so he could look at her. 

Her hands slid onto his forearms. “I thought...” she said. “They wouldn’t tell me what hospital you were at...”

“Fuck,” he said and folded her against him again. “It was a set-up, to catch the guy that talked to Parker today.”

Her hands slid up his jacket back and she grabbed his shirt in her fists, melting into him and sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry.”

After a few minutes, she took a couple of deep breaths and hiccupped against his chest. He scooped her up and carried her into the darkened living room. The TV volume was turned down. Ralph Kramden made eyes at someone off-screen.

Rebecca sighed and nuzzled into the spot between his neck and jaw as he bent his knees and half fell onto the old beige couch he’d bought years ago. It had lived with him in Washington and then New York, and then he’d given it to her when she bought the house. He loved to think of Parker having something of his as a part of his daily life. 

Booth ran his hand over her thighs and pulled at the crook of her knees to settle her on her back. He slouched down beside her, her legs over his, and relaxed for the first time that night. “Where’s Rosa?” he asked.

“I sent her home,” Rebecca whispered. “She was scared. So was I.” She teared up again. “The news said one of the Jeffersonian...”

“I’m sorry. Zach’s fine. We couldn’t risk a leak. I didn’t think about you seeing it.” He sat up. “You didn’t tell Parker...”

“No.” She tugged him back down. “He was asleep already. Besides,” she said, her eyes searching his, and then taking in his damaged face, the scrapes along his temple and brow. “How could I? If anything ever happens to you... how would I tell him?”

Her lips were dry. Plump and dry. He licked his own, his eyes skating over her tear-dampened face as the light from the TV danced over her. Her fingers pressed against his skin and she tensed as he lowered his head. 

He kissed her softly and when she opened her mouth, he followed. They sank like addicts into their habit. Her tongue slid along his and he groaned and pressed her down into the deep cushions. 

He slid his mouth to the salty skin of her throat as his hands pushed her tee-shirt up to uncover her breasts. She tugged at his jacket. He sat up and stripped it and his shirt off. 

She smoothed her hands over his chest and then twisted one of his nipples. He gasped and slipped his fingers into the waistband of her flannel pajama bottoms.

When she lay bare before him, his conscience caught up. He paused, his hands on his zipper. She pushed his hands away to unzip him herself. 

Her hand was cut across the heel, a long slice lined in dried blood.

He stopped her, taking her hand to inspect it in the dim light. “What’s this?”

“Nothing. I dropped a glass when... when they said your name.”

He kissed it, and then captured her mouth and kissed her until he was dizzy with need.

Then she had him free and used her mouth with wet skill, her hot little tongue taking him, stealing his breath and thought. By the time she finally let him please her, there was nothing in his head but the need to thrust harder. And deeper. And faster.

*

“God,” Booth groaned, and tried to shift some of his weight off her.

“Mmm,” she said, and stroked his back with her nails.

He shivered. He worked his hands down flat and pried himself up. Her chest was flushed and sticky. He ducked his head and licked her nipples. They hardened as he blew across them. He never tired of that. He grinned down at her. 

Rebecca shook her head, the corner of her lips quirking up. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers along the cuts on his face. 

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “You?”

She nodded.

They untangled themselves and he left her separating their clothes. The kitchen was dark. He popped the light switch as he entered and stopped, startled. A pool of red lay to one side of the round breakfast table, one of the chairs pushed back and sideways from it. 

Shards of clear glass reflected the light. Booth drew in a sharp breath, before catching the sweet scent. Red wine. 

He still had his socks on, so he padded in, snagged the paper towels from near the sink and knelt to sop up the worst of it. He plucked up the biggest pieces, carried them to the trash can and dumped them. Two more trips, and the cream tile was clean again.

He turned the tap on to rinse the wine off his hands. A large, jagged curve of glass sat in the sink. Booth poked it with his finger. The wine sitting in the bowl of it was blood. He picked it up and passed it under the water, watching the blood stream off. He wished he could wash the blood off his hands so easily. 

He bent, resting his elbows on the counter edge and swiped the curve of glass with his thumb, chasing the last of the blood out. He turned it over and then over again under the stream.

“Seeley,” Rebecca said from the doorway.

What had he done, coming here? He had fucked Cam on that couch. He should be at the hospital with her. He had his own relationships to screw up without helping Becca ruin hers. 

He turned the glass in his hand, feeling Epps’ fingers slide across his. 

He ran his thumb over the jagged edge and winced at the pain. 

Rebecca leaned into his back, peering over his shoulder. “You cut yourself?”

He shook his head as they both watched his blood swirl down onto the sink and away with the running water.

Rebecca shut off the tap and took the piece of glass from his hand, still leaning on him. As she drew her hand back, she let the glass travel his shoulder. 

He jumped. 

Her tongue followed the thin burning line as she reached between his legs with her other hand and cupped his balls. 

He straightened, trying to turn, but stopped when she closed her fingers tightly.

She breathed on his neck and left wet, open mouth kisses along his shoulders. She pushed the heel of her hand between his shoulder blades. 

Wary, he again braced his elbows. 

Knocking his ankles apart with her foot, she spread his legs. She released his boys, scratched her nails along the tops of his thighs and stroked his soft cock. She drew the glass down his other shoulder.

Booth clenched his teeth on a hiss, closed his eyes and hung his head, waiting for whatever she did next. 

Her tongue followed the line of the cut, and his cock swelled. She swept her fingertips over him, her thumb brushing over the tip and back down, and then up the cleft between his cheeks.

“Rebecca,” he whispered.

“Shhhh...” She shimmied her cotton-covered breasts across his back and brought the glass around, carving his ribs. 

He twisted away, his St. Christopher’s clinking on the sink. His cock surged up. 

She held the cold glass against his chest as she drew her other hand up his ass again, harder, then over his hip and settled her fist around him. She pumped him and he stood up, gasping, knocking her back. The glass tore down his sternum. 

His cock throbbed hard against the cage of her hand. 

He clutched the counter’s edge, his fingers nearly numb. She was rigid at his back. They breathed together. His head and chest and cock all ached with the pounding of his heart. Moving slowly, he covered her hand with his. Her hand was slippery and hot with his blood. He needed. He wanted. 

He threaded his fingers with hers.

She dropped the bit of glass, and let go of his cock as he brought their combined hands down to grasp himself. He stroked. Tight, slippery slide. 

Becca bit him.

He let go, tugging his fingers from hers and spun on her, reaching for her, turning her away from him. He took two long strides, herding her ahead of him. The table was just the right height. He crowded her against it, ran his hand up her back and pushed her face down.

She grabbed for purchase as he yanked her flannels down. He spread one hand on her bottom, and let his thumb dip into her. With the other, he guided himself straight into her heat. 

Slick and hot and ready for him, she pushed back onto him, all the way. She whipped one arm back and held onto his ass. 

He wrapped his hand in her hair, steadied her at her hip and thrust hard and steady. 

She made that noise, that gasp of hers, with every thrust and her nails dug into his cheek, and she tightened, tightened, tightened around him. He stopped. 

She teetered there with him. He reached down and rubbed her swollen clit. Just as he felt her go over, he slammed back home, again and again as she shuddered under him. Then he was gone, gone, both hands on her hips, holding her tight as his knees tried to give. He had to lay his weight on her to keep them both from spilling to the floor. 

She was quivering. He lifted his head from her shoulder and she raised hers, tilting her face in invitation. He kissed her and then slowly stood. She was a picture: legs spread, her ass bare, back bloodied, her breasts pressed to the table. He rubbed his palm over her pale, round bottom, and onto her back.

She stood, pushing her hair off her face. She pulled her shirt down but kicked off her bottoms, before looking at his chest. Seeley glanced down. 

The cut was jagged, but shallow. He craned to see his ribs, but that was just a scratch, barely visible. He turned around, and Rebecca reached up and ran a finger along the scratches on his shoulders.

“You’re okay,” she said.

Not trusting his voice, he only nodded. 

Rebecca stepped around him, scooped the glass shard off the floor and set in the sink, and then opened the drawer next to it and pulled out a small first aid kit. She crooked her finger at him and with a sigh, he let her wipe him down and dab on antibiotic cream.

“That was...”

“Yeah,” he said.

When she was done, she stretched up and kissed his collarbone, his throat, his lips. 

He retreated to the couch to dress and after a minute, she trailed out after him, a cold bottle of water in her hand. They shared it standing in Parker’s doorway. The little guy had cried himself to sleep. He looked as worn and disheveled as Seeley felt. 

Although he knew even a bullhorn couldn’t wake Parker once he was really down, Seeley crouched by his son’s bed, hoping he’d sense him there. He brushed Parker’s hair to the side and kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, son,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

Rebecca kissed him before opening the front door, and then he was down the steps and in his truck and when he looked back, her porch was dark and her house as still as if he’d never been there. He rubbed his chest and cringed when he hit the proof of their time together. 

They had been around the bend before, but never in that direction. He pulled at his pants, readjusting. Just thinking about it. Jesus. 

He was tired but wound too tight to sleep. He couldn’t settle on one train of thought. Bones and Epps and Rebecca. The slide of flesh, fingers and cock and the glass reflecting in the light, the water streaming over its curve and edge. 

His body drove and when it landed him in Cam’s room, he sat, hands in his jacket pockets and watched her sleep.

 

 


End file.
